


Mon Étoile

by KChan88



Series: Sailing By Orion's Star: Deleted Scenes [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: Michel comes home early, stumbling upon the aftermath of one of Enjolras' confrontations with his grandfather.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If my translations are correct, Mon Étoile means "my star" in French.

Michel’s greeted by the anxious face of Enjolras’ Latin tutor when he comes home at noon.

“Captain Enjolras,” Mr. Dominic says, approaching him, nervous sweat beading along his hairline. “You’ve come home at a good time.”

“I hoped I might have a meal with Rene and Frantz since my wife is out for the afternoon,” Michel says. “I…is something the matter? Where are the boys?”

“Frantz is ill today,” Mr. Dominic says, twisting his fingers. “Monsieur Combeferre said he was staying home and sent a note to you?”

“I was in a meeting this morning that didn’t require him,” Michel says. “And I haven’t been back to my office. Where is Rene?”

“I…there was an incident,” Dominic says. “His grandfather stopped by and…”

Michel raises his hand, silencing him.

“Thank you, Dominic,” he says. “You may go for the day.”

“Thank you sir,” Dominic says. “Rene did very well in his lessons today, you know. He’s a smart lad.”

“I know,” Michel says. “Thank you again.”

He waits for the door to close behind him as Dominic scurries out with his books, searching around for Mrs. Hudson, who appears from the direction of the kitchen.

“Sir,” she says, sounding angry. “Pardon my boldness but your father in law was here and he backhanded Rene and I…well it’s not right, Captain Enjolras.”

“Where is he?” Michel asks.

“In his room,” Mrs. Hudson says. “Sir, I need to warn you this was worse than one of the usual slaps that’s happened before. The governor’s ring swiped across Rene’s cheek and left blood. He wouldn’t let me help.”

“Let me try to talk to him,” Michel says, pressing her arm. “Would you mind making some tea? Or well, perhaps some coffee, since his grandfather’s not here.” He pauses. “Where did Governor Travers go?”

“He stormed out like he normally does,” she says, more openly disdainful than usual. “Came in during Rene’s lesson and got angry about something, though I couldn’t tell what.”

Michel nods, heading up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson goes back to the kitchen for coffee. Michel walks down the hallway, hearing a sound growing louder as he approaches.

Crying.

He pushes the almost closed door open, stepping inside.

“Rene?” he says, soft, seeing his son with his knees pulled up toward his chest, his arms wrapped around them.

“I don’t want to talk,” Enjolras says, not picking his head up from where it rests on his forearms. “Please, I don’t want to talk.”

“That’s all right,” Michel says, feeling pained and awkward. “May I sit?”

Enjolras doesn’t answer, so Michel sits on the edge of the bed, not touching his son yet.

“Rene?” Michel asks. “May I see your face?”

Enjolras picks his head up, eyes distrustful and wet. Michel sees the red, blotchy cheek, a thin streak of blood in the center of his right cheek, as well as an indentation from a ring.

“Oh Rene,” Michel breathes. “I’m sorry son.” He reaches out, putting a hand on Enjolras’ knee, but his son shoves it off.

That’s never happened before.

“You _aren’t_ sorry,” Enjolras says, tears pooling in his eyes, disdain in his voice. “You haven’t stopped him.”

“I’m trying, my boy,” Michel says, his voice cracking.

“Why don’t you love me?” Enjolras says, a sob breaking his words up. “What did I _do_?”

“Rene, mon étoile,” Michel says, using the old term of endearment. “Son, I love you more than my own life.”

Enjolras really starts sobbing now, and used to a child not prone to tears, Michel doesn’t quite know what to do. With anger still in his eyes Enjolras reaches out anyway, hands grasping at Michel’s lapels.

“Then why do you let him _hit_ me?” Enjolras asks, the pain in his son’s voice making Michel’s chest hurt.

Michel wraps his arms around Enjolras, pulling him close.

“I have asked him to cease doing so,” Michel says, the words sounding fruitless to his own ears, because privately, it frightens him how little influence he has over his father in law, frightens him that the fear in his own heart makes him less effective than he might otherwise be. “But I’m afraid I cannot always control his actions. I will speak to him again, I promise you.”

“Whether I obey him or not he is always angry,” Enjolras says, his head resting on Michel’s chest. “I am never allowed to make mistakes. And sometimes I cannot obey him because he is hateful to Frantz.”

“Is that was this was about?” Michel asks, pulling back and searching his son’s face. “About Frantz?”

“He made a comment that perhaps I should no longer take my lessons with Frantz,” Enjolras admits. “And I told him that I liked doing so and it spiraled out from there.”

Enjolras pulls out of his embrace, one hand curling over his elbow. Michel pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket, reaching out to wipe the thin streak of blood off Enjolras’ face. Enjolras allows it but shuts his eyes as if preventing himself from flinching.

“I’m not going to hurt you Rene,” Michel whispers, wiping the blood away. “I promise you.”

“Do you think I deserve it?” Enjolras asks as Michel runs a careful finger over the injury. “Grandfather hitting me?”

“Son no,” Michel says, his hand moving down and covering Enjolras’. “Of course not.”

“Are _you_ going to start hitting me?” Enjolras asks, voice barely audible.

“My boy,” Michel says, feeling tears in his own eyes now. “No.”

“We don’t get along like we used to,” Enjolras says, meeting his father’s gaze and then looking away. “I miss it.”

“I would not hit you Rene,” Michel says, taking Enjolras’ other hand now so they’re both contained within his own. “Not out of discipline, and certainly not out of my own anger.”

“Then why can’t you make grandfather stop?” Enjolras asks, holding his gaze now, and the fierceness within the blue eyes so similar to his own strikes Michel. “You’ve asked him to stop.”

“He does not always listen,” Michel says, leaving out his own fear of his father in law, the fear of what he might do if Michel is too firm with him. “But I shall remind him again, that I do not find it acceptable and that you are my son and I will dictate what is and isn’t appropriate.”

Rene nods, taking his hands out of Michel’s grasp and wrapping his arms around his knees again.

“Rene,” Michel says, cutting the trembling from his voice. “I love you very much son. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.”

Enjolras nods again, looking up at Michel.

“I love you too, Papa,” he says, but though the words are real, Michel hears the disappointment held within them.

“Does your cheek hurt?” Michel asks. “We could get a cool cloth for it when Mrs. Hudson brings up the coffee I asked for.”

“Yes, please,” Enjolras answers. Then, a question appears in his eyes. “Why are you home? It’s only noon.”

“Well I thought I’d come share a meal with you since when we depart next week the voyage will likely have us gone for a month,” Michel says.

“Oh.”

“But,” Michel says, reading his son’s expression. “I think I will dispatch a note to say I won’t be returning this afternoon.”

“Even with Lieutenant Combeferre gone taking care of Frantz?”

“My first officer or Javert can take care of anything in my absence,” Michel says. “It’s only an afternoon. Ah but look, it’s Mrs. Hudson with the coffee.”

“Quick as I could, sir,” Mrs. Hudson says, but Michel doesn’t miss the irritation in her eyes, but she offers Rene a wide smile. “Do you need anything else? Should I send for Madam Enjolras?”

“No that’s all right, I’m going to stay for the afternoon,” Michel says. “Astra should be home in two hours or so, I believe. But we could use a cold cloth, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s one here on the coffee tray, actually,” Mrs. Hudson says, laying it down on Enjolras’ bedside table. “I thought you might need one.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” Enjolras says, shy.

“You are most welcome sweet boy,” she says, ruffling his hair. “I’ll leave you to it, if there’s nothing else, Captain Enjolras.”

“If you could just send a note over to Javert, if you would,” Michel says. “And let him know I won’t be returning to the office if anyone asks for me.”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Hudson says.

She smiles once more at Enjolras before closing the door, worry in her eyes.

Michel presses the cloth to Enjolras’ face then lets him hold it there as he pours the coffee into two cups.

“What was the matter with Frantz this morning?” Michel asks.

“Head cold,” Enjolras says, accepting the coffee with his free hand. “But nasty enough to keep Lieutenant Combeferre at home. They said in the note I could visit tomorrow.”

Enjolras shifts over, allowing Michel room to sit next to him, both their backs resting against the headboard, coffee in hand, but Michel feels the tension radiating from his son’s body.

“Is your cheek better?” Michel asks.

“The cloth helps,” Enjolras answers, lowering it from his cheek, setting it in his lap.

Awkwardness sits between them, and Michel spies a book of old sea legends sitting on Rene’s bedside table, passed between him and Frantz for the past few months so often Michel’s forgotten the origin.

“Would you like me to read to you?” Michel asks.

“You don’t have to,” Enjolras says, sounding unsure.

“I want to,” Michel says, eyes flickering over the mark on his son’s face.

Today, he feels like a coward.

“All right,” Enjolras says, a tentative brightness in his eyes as he reaches over for the book. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Michel says, smoothing some of the hair back from Enjolras’ forehead. “I’m sorry about today Rene. Truly.”

Enjolras surveys him, hope in his eyes even as distrust manifests in his expression.

“I know you are,” Enjolras says, sincere.

Michel puts his coffee down, his arm going around Enjolras’ shoulders. He takes the book in his free hand, voice filling the room.

For now, it’s only the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of Michel feelings lately for obvious reasons if you're caught up with the main narrative, and I have another deleted scene planned featuring VERY little E with Astra and Michel that is much happier than this one, so stay tuned! :D


End file.
